


Touchstarved and Tired

by ForgottenDreamofFlames



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Other, POV Second Person, Reader Insert, Touch-Starved, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 00:32:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13752462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgottenDreamofFlames/pseuds/ForgottenDreamofFlames
Summary: The reader is just a lonely, somewhat new survivor, and they're getting used to how things are done. Not that they're any good at it.Sometimes the Killers are just more available than the other Survivors.





	Touchstarved and Tired

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Mirror: https://slimeywriting.tumblr.com/post/171113533603/touchstarved

You’ve lost count of how many damn trials you’ve been put through. You’re alright at them, you think. At first it had been mangling after mutilation before the relief of being hooked. You can safely say you would rather struggle on a hook for a minute than limp around for who knows how long for the measly hope of _maybe_ getting out. As a result, you’ve taken a more blase approach. It’s helped actually, not being completely paralyzed by fear and taking the risky but high reward routes now that being hooked really isn’t the worst thing.

It would be better if you actually got along with the other survivors though. You’re a generally neutral person, you keep to yourself and are quite inoffensive in personality and looks. That got you through high school with ease, skating by neither bullied nor popular. Right in the middle and unnoticed is where you thrive. Unfortunately, in a nightmare like this, even a mannequin couldn’t get along with the other survivors. Backstabbing, useless squabbling, and daily fights were the norm; people tended not to coexist very well when a few of them left the others to be killed. Having virtually no connection to the other survivors, you tended to be on the latter end of the situation. You don’t take offense easily but your grudges last.

Hating a good portion of them doesn’t make trying to get some fucking rest next to the rowdy bunch any easier. Your sleep cycle was already screwed over by the constant dim light and you didn’t want any of your shit stolen while you slept.

You rub your crusty eyes with the back of your hand as you climb into a stack of hay bales. Score. It’s tight enough that it takes some good rustling and squirming to get situated, and you manage to get mostly in there before you realize you haven’t been paying attention to the killer. It’s the Trapper this time, easily one of the worst to go up against. You have a knack for blundering into his horrifying traps and screaming loud enough to have him after you in an instant. You stop your wiggling and strain your ears. Oh no.

You hadn’t heard him, but he heard you. Your blood rushes in your ears as you hold still in a futile attempt to stay unnoticed. A massive, leathery hand seizes your ankle and hauls you out to dangle upside down. The blood roaring through your ears only gets louder.

“Any chance you could put me back?” You still don’t know if he can even understand you. It doesn’t matter if he does; he still puts you over his shoulder hard enough to knock the wind out of you. “Okay, that’s fair. Following the rules.” You have a habit of narrating when you think people can’t hear you. “Can’t blame you for that much, at least you didn’t feel like beating me up first. Always appreciated.” You’re too close to the hooks for struggling to do any good, so you don’t waste the energy. There are worse ways to go out for a round than carried on a meaty man’s huge shoulders. While you’re up there you might as well feel them.

In here life is all about the small joys, and sometimes that joy comes in the form of feeling up the Trapper on his less hook ridden side. He’s grimy and flecked with blood, but so are the rest of the survivors. You’re used to it. You can’t help but wonder if this is something the others have also done, since he gives no response. Just keeps walking you to your death. Ugh. Still, it’s nice to be touching something warm and hopefully alive. You wouldn’t dream of asking the other survivors for a hug. The body odor alone is enough to deter you from most, let alone their personalities.

The gargantuan man stops, you assume in front of the hooks, and starts to lift you up. Locking your arms around his neck, you cling to him. Christ he’s massive- you can’t even get your legs all the way around his chest. Barely halfway. Honestly, you didn’t expect it to do much in the way of actually stopping (or even slowing) your death, but you just wanted to stay on him a little longer. It was better than the wet chill of the fog and a hundred, no a _thousand_ times better than the pain of being a hooked bit of bait, so it was worth the try. Maybe it was the novelty of someone grabbing onto him instead of pushing away, but the Trapper pauses just long enough for you to get a proper grip on him. “C’mon, you got me fair and square, just give me one fucking minute here, _please._ Just lemme stay here and I promise not to fuck off when you decide to get on with it. Christ you’re a furnace.” Your cold hands are pressed to the back of his neck. “Oh that feels so nice. Did you know the campfire barely gives any warmth off? It sucks, just like everything here, and all the good spots were already taken when I got here. Good being okay and the rest being awful.” You babble in his ear, absorbing what sweet, sweet body heat you can.

“Do you have any idea how sad it is that this is the closest I’ve had to a hug in at least a month? Huh? I mean I know you’re probably hug deficient but that comes with the territory of slasher guy doesn’t it. You’re probably used to it but me, I need my daily dose of love or I’m going bonkers within the week.” He doesn’t smell great, especially not when you have your face pressed against his neck, but it’s not bad. Sweat and fresh dirt on top of the usual stench of blood. Unlike the other survivors, he didn’t seem to be marinating in it. Lucky.

He’s frozen, and you’re loath to move and disturb whatever the hell is going on. You stay still and listen to his deep, slow breathing. You’re so tired, you want to curl up here and sleep forever. You wonder if you’ll ever actually die, or if you’re doomed to this hell forever.

It’s almost exactly a minute before the Trapper lurches into action and slams you down onto the hook. “ _Ah-_ ” Your breath comes out in a pained squeak. Alright, not unexpected. You sway slightly and loll your head back to look at him. He’s staring.

You give a shaky thumbs up. Deals a deal and you needed that almost-hug. He snorts and steps back to watch the insectoid claws of the Entity descend. You wonder if they can sense that you have no intention of escaping them this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may do other Killers in the future, in various scenarios.


End file.
